


Instants that Carry You

by Nicole_Silverwolf



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicole_Silverwolf/pseuds/Nicole_Silverwolf
Summary: Originally posted to FFNet 11-21-10There are always moments of doubt followed by a little reaffirmation of humanity in every person's life.  Time doesn't change that. Set in and around ACII.





	1. Old

 

Disclaimer: Not Mine. The End.

Comments are always welcome.

**Instants That Carry You**

**By, Nicole Silverwolf**

_'The children play all around the throne_

_Innocent of sin_

_A trillion voices sing the name_

_The mortals may not know_

_And Heaven's walls too high to hear_

_The trouble down below'_

_-'Step By Step' Jesse Wincester_

He had been sitting with her for over an hour. A small hand inside his own and a hopeful gaze in warm brown eyes.

Five years of trying. Maybe today she would do more than stare through him like he was a ghost.

Conversation had been one sided and forced at first. Ezio had lost the ability to make small talk abruptly after leaving Florence. That had gotten easier as he'd ranged further away from the villa, stories about the people he'd met or Leonardo's terrifyingly brilliant inventions were never in short supply. Claudia would join him sometimes and they would fill the gaps where the third response was meant to be. He never mentioned what brought them here even if it loomed in the shadow of Ezio's every action.

If Maria heard or acknowledged them, it was impossible to say.

It felt foolish to still crave her approval or at the least her reaction. At his age and after experiencing what he had, there was no reason to still want this. It was childish and he was no child. It was selfish and he was doing his best not to be that either.

Yet there were still days when he'd have some question, need some advice. Minor or major, related to assassinations or not when he would forget that his father was not there to offer the wisdom of experience. That his older brother wouldn't back him up when he found himself in a tight corner. When he needed someone to help just a little, share the burden of everything.

He'd only ever begged once, several months after they'd arrived at Monteriggioni. "Please don't leave us too. We're still here and we need you."

It had stayed her hand from the blade she'd pressed so firmly to her own throat. Ezio wondered for not the first time whether she was even trying to live instead of simply existing. She seemed incapable of offering more to either of them.

Like so many things large and infinitesimal, he'd learned to live with that ache.

This was a day when simply being near to family wasn't enough to calm him. Death took something from him in tiny little increments these days. It didn't waver his belief in the mission, but it was tiring some fundamental part of him. Coming home and seeing his remaining family, the villa he was slowly but surely bringing back to its former glory was often like filling a water skin for the journey ahead. It renewed him.

At least it usually did.

A careful kiss to his mother's cheek told her he was leaving before he all but fled the room.

Ezio raced out of the city. Making sure to avoid Claudia who was perceptive and aggressively opinionated about his avoidance of the real issue. A week of hard travel, back to back contracts that blurred together found him back in Florence for the first time in several months.

Still restless and ill at heart Ezio hoped to at least fall into unconsciousness for a few hours. Quiet and easily defensible he'd hunkered down in the loft of a tiny church that hadn't been a memory of childhood. Granted their family had attended church at the larger basilica where the Medici worshipped as was dictated by their class. So it was possible he'd simply never seen such an unassuming house of worship.

Regardless, it would take the edge off the tremors buzzing through his hands and steady him for a little longer.

Sleep did eventually come. He dreamt of impossible things, a young man startlingly similar and yet nothing like him. Warm eyes and a quick smile trapped in a building of metal and glass so high that the sky was uninterrupted. It didn't exactly feel like home but there was something familiar about the young man that felt right.

The shrieking children jolted him awake.

Ezio was instantly on edge, weapons ready, perched on actively bent knees and ready to spring to the fight.

All to apparently attack a rowdy bunch of students.

They were bouncing with energy, running, dancing, spinning, poking, unable to hold still for one second.

Ezio quirked a lip. He and Federico had been just like that. Their tutors had despaired at getting through a single lesson without one of them up and out of their desk. They'd much rather be scaling the walls of the palazzo than doing their assignments.

What on earth were they doing here?

Most of the thirty or so children were settling down into the pews, facing the altar. Even then they were chattering away, all excitement, exclamations and big gestures. To judge from their dress all were children of the lower classes. The clothes were clean but worn and frayed in places that indicated hand me downs from older siblings or near continuous wear. Most were clearly not from Florence. Skin tones ranged far beyond the norm of the region and their features varied wildly as well. Girls and boys in equal measure filled the seats which was unheard of.

The arrival of one of those dreadful city minstrels put Ezio on edge. Terrible songs and even worse timing, they had been responsible for him losing targets on numerous occasions. Suffice to say they had never endeared themselves to the assassin.

"Alright everyone, settle down and we'll go through scales yes?" This minstrel was young; only older than him by a few years at most.

"Yes Mr. Bee," they chorused back, still bouncing from left to right but generally coming to order under the minstrel's word.

Falling back on his haunches Ezio settled in to investigate. If ever asked about the slight smile curving his lips almost like peace, he'd deny it until the end of days.

But after listening to imperfect voices work themselves into tune through the major scales his scorn for perhaps this one musician might be...slightly lessened. At least the man was contributing to society in a way more productive than their kind usually did.

The church did not have an organ, so the minstrel strummed the chords on the mandolin. He was clearly skilled and his playing held an earnest tone to it that was welcome.

"We can sing a few of the favorites and then we must rehearse for mass alright?" he announced to much cheering and general noise. The names of countless popular songs jumped from children's lips, everything from sea shanties to hymnals to songs Ezio was quite sure young children were not meant to be listening to.

God how that thought made him feel old.

"How about the list song?" the minstrel suggested mildly. An equal amount of dismay and joy was expressed at that suggestion. But when the particular chord that clearly marked the opening bars rang in the air, the chorus came to near still attention.

Ezio had to wonder at that. Gestures ten times as grand could not move entire populations. It was impossible not to compare that thought to his own life.

Five years and he was no closer to answers, no closer to destroying the Templars, no closer to lessening the guilt that he had lived while his brothers and father were dead. No one that he could confide in truly (he would never burden Claudia, Leonardo or Rosa with such thoughts). Uncle Mario had been away for almost two years, and his mother had proven she was unable to live for the family she still had.

What if every effort he had ever made since the day his world ended was for nothing? All those lives he'd taken and what if it didn't change a thing about history? These men of power, there were hundreds waiting to take their place; like insects.

It was a fools errand he was on.

And the thought was more crushing than he would have imagined a realization could be.

_Let's go slowly discouraged_

_Distant from other interests on your favorite weekend ending_

_This love's for little miss only when we're the fortunate only_

_No, I gotta be someone else_

_These days it comes, it comes, it comes, it comes, it comes and goes_

The voices rose from below sweetly in tune like any group of children might sound under a good tutor.

Even in song these children never stopped moving. They gestured and bounced in time to the downbeat. Two boys near the front were clearly attempting to outdo themselves and impress (some might say clown around) with the rest of the students.

_Follow, misguide, stand still_

_I've been looking for something else_

_These days it comes, it comes, it comes, it comes, it comes and goes_

The words were no hymn though he realized suddenly. Their voices were confident and the words flowed effortlessly, practiced and memorized.

Unabashed, the energy they radiated was something Ezio couldn't ever truly describe. It was like the feeling right before a summer thunderstorm storm. Driving and powerful, anticipation of everything that could be pouring from them in waves.

_Lisztomania_

_Think less but see it grow like a riot, like a riot, oh_

_not easily offended_

_hard to let it go from a mess to the masses_

His life had been privileged once; he'd heard music played in the most opulent of Florence's churches, seen the greatest art of the day, witnessed history unfolding around him, through him now. Those things had never quite moved him the way the artist had meant them to be perceived.

This music was something quite different. Earnest, truthful, imperfect and all the better for being that way.

For the first time in a long while, he was filled with hope.

These were the future of the world. Thirty some odd children, just a sample of the ordinary.

And they far outnumbered the corrupt officials, the power hungry of the church, the Templars and Assassins too. They outnumbered everything that made some impact on his life before that time.

Proof positive that there was something beyond all that had become his life. It was beyond him now, the choice to go back to the life he once led. To ever gain back what these children had in overflowing quantities. Bittersweet of course. And yet something so very worth continuing the fight for.

The words of the song swelled and were cut off with crisp efficiency. A single praise from the minstrel and the room erupted in cheers and clapping. Ezio retreated back from his perch, out the second entrance in the roof.

Those few minutes had been enough. Leonardo's workshop was only a kilometer west, and a forgotten page of the codex nudged at his side. It had been too long since he had seen his closest friend, one he'd been avoiding of late for fear of endangering his life or burdening him with his presence.

A blur of shadow could have been mistaken for a bird as he soared towards the center of the city.

So absorbed in his listening Ezio failed to notice the points and stares from the chorus. Most if not all of them knew nothing of what an assassin was. Though he'd built quite the reputation among the rest of the citizens they hadn't yet started to use his story as a bedtime threat. For them it was infinitely exciting and all together too amazing to see a man perched like a raptor in the rafters.

Their parents were less amused when they began climbing ledges, over fences and free running everywhere. "Imitating the white eagle!" they would insist joyfully.

**TBC**


	2. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation for where this came from felt right. And it just so happens that it works to make it a part of the story.

_ 'Was there something I said to make you doubt _

_ I could get back up? _

_ Cause I can get back up.' _

_ -You, Me and Everyone We Know _

He blinked and Desmond felt the discord of desynchronization lurch in his stomach. Pain shot through his mind, blinding and overwhelming. Halfway through a leap and he was suddenly banging his head on the eye piece of the Animus 2.0.

"What the hell was that for?" He growled in annoyance, turning his eyes to Rebecca accusingly.

"You're alright!" the woman crowed in relief.

Lucy was clutching his shoulder painfully tight and the almost tears he saw must have been a trick of the harsh fluorescent.

"Desmond, can you hear me?" she asked low and concerned. He ignored her and went to sit up, abruptly aware of how stiff he was. Sessions had never left him feeling like this; drained like he hadn't moved in days.

"Of course I can hear you," he bit off in annoyance. God he felt terrible, and couldn't decide whether sitting up or just asking to get sent back to Florence would be a better option.

"Well that's good because for the last seventeen hours you've been completely unresponsive Desmond."

That piece of information came from Shaun, and if he didn't know better there might have been a tinge of almost concern in the tone.

A distinctive fear swept him unbidden, the one that asked what exactly they had done to safeguard the bleeding effect from affecting him as it had sixteen. He'd been in the Animus for hours without being able to respond? Or even know that anything was wrong? Was this one of the side effects they didn't even know about?

"What?" Desmond managed to get out in an almost growl.

"You went into a church and the data stream corrupted for lack of a better explanation. We couldn't communicate with you, couldn't desynch you, couldn't record or see anything. It must have been pure luck you found your way out again."

His confused grimace didn't hide much from their stares. He'd remembered choosing to enter and to leave. The room hadn't been blank and featureless like other times he'd been stuck in "Animus Limbo" as Desmond thought of it.

_ 'But the church, that chorus, the song...I knew them!' _ Desmond almost shouted it.

That song. He HAD heard it somewhere. That song was from the present era. No more than a few years old, Desmond was sure of it. He'd heard it on the radio. And those kids. He'd seen their faces before. Not that choir dressed in shabby but true to the time Florentine dress but in a video. On youtube at the library.

How had it ended up in Ezio's memories?

Hours later, after they'd tested and retested every single Animus subroutine he was still asking himself that. Rebecca could see no reason for the glitch, and Desmond was scheduled to dive back in at first light.

The closest he could guess was that what had happened was like those glyphs he'd been finding left by the previous Animus user. Out of place in the world of fifteenth century Italy.

And that data corruption. Desmond would bet his motorcycle that had been intentional.

The desperation he heard-felt-with each of those found glyphs was growing exponentially. It was clear that whatever they had been doing to the man had been driving him insane. Unsettling how everyone else seemed so unconcerned when it was all he could focus on at times.

Subject sixteen had found a way to integrate and hide that video in the memories. Hidden it so well and so deeply that it felt like a portion of Florence. Desmond was sure that if Shaun ever let him look at one of his coveted maps from the time period, the church just plain out didn't exist.

As it was, his "borrowing" of Rebecca's laptops to search youtube of all places was dangerous enough.

A search for fuzzy remembered lyrics got him close, to the original song written in 2009. But it didn't feature a chorus of children. Clicking guiltily through links, knowing open broadcast of his IP address was just asking for the Templars to be tracking it, he was starting to lose the certainty he'd felt earlier. It was probably gone or he'd confused it for something else. He'd only ever watched it once, over two years ago when he'd been using the computer to figure out how to apply for a motorcycle license.

And then he found it.

_ 'I was right,' _ he almost laughed.

"PS22 Chorus -"Liztomania" Phoenix" A click later and he was rewarded for his certainty.

The video was shaky and ameteur, shot in a classroom that must double as an auditorium. The kids in the video were diverse but not dressed shabbily at all. At the first lyric from the group it was like falling back into that church; felt effortlessly similar to when Desmond couldn't tell the difference between his actions and Ezio's. When he couldn't care about that difference either.

A part of him itched to know how subject sixteen had done it. He'd never been trained formally in computer science but like so many of his generation had picked it up almost naturally. This was something far more complex. More than an incongruous symbol, it was fully realized people, a place, words and music hidden in the Animus. Almost hidden in the past.

Why put all that effort into a video of a kid's chorus singing?

Was it the meaningless action of someone losing their mind? Had he done it to subterfuge the other information, those weird clips and fantastic stories about Tesla and Tunguska? Why hide it so that no one except the person in the Animus could see it?

Instinct told him it was no fluke or mistake. It overrode the more rational answer he knew he should be considering.

Lucy, Shaun and Rebecca would scoff at him.

But Desmond knew what it was like in the Animus, felt the despair that Ezio must have experienced in his life. Knew the same feeling was slowly encroaching on him as it became clear that while he might have escaped for a time, the life of an assassin had been his since birth.

Everyone needed something to keep them going. Sixteen hadn't been an exception. Neither had Ezio.

Closing the laptop after wiping every cookie and trace he knew of Desmond settled back to rest. Good things still existed out there and they were worth what he was giving up. Shaun might debate the worth of a rock song covered by fifth graders but Desmond decided that was the other man's problem. A brief thanks passed through his thoughts, directed at the sixteenth Animus user.

When Desmond finally slept, for the first time in what felt like months he dreamt of his own past. Remembered the stray kitten he'd named Masyaf (ironically without knowing there was anything to the name) and the uncomplicated joy he'd felt at knowing the cat was alive and thriving because of him.

**Owari**

_ You can google the video I inserted into the Animus using the title Desmond searched for. Or you can insert any song you find inspiration from. I wanted something a little off the beaten path and not straight out recognizable as "modern". _

_ I tried very hard not to descend into melodrama, because these characters certainly don't spend time endlessly angsting about their situations. Still there are always moments of doubt followed by a little reaffirmation of humanity in every person's life. _

_ So...comments, criticisms, flames, praise...anything you'd like to throw at me? Please do so now. _

_ Thanks for reading _ .


End file.
